


For the Love of Cheese

by Jadesfire



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-30
Updated: 2010-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-08 12:42:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadesfire/pseuds/Jadesfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A disturbing secret is uncovered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the Love of Cheese

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://szm.livejournal.com/profile)[**szm**](http://szm.livejournal.com/)'s [Anti-shipping war](http://szm.livejournal.com/76140.html). And it's all [](http://miss-zedem.livejournal.com/profile)[**miss_zedem**](http://miss-zedem.livejournal.com/)'s fault. As usual. Although [](http://cyberducks.livejournal.com/profile)[**cyberducks**](http://cyberducks.livejournal.com/) started it...
> 
> With apologies to the French and those of delicate cheese sensibilities. Not quite a sequel to "Club Night" but that's where the OMC comes from.

  
It was the third email that had Keith really worried. He flicked back and forth a few times, checking and double-checking. Of course, it was privileged information and he was incredibly lucky to have access to these things and really, it was none of his business.

Even so.

Slightly nervously, he opened the email again, reading carefully. There wasn't much between the lines in it, and there was no way of getting away from the facts.

Jack loved Brie.

It was a lot to take on board, and Keith spent a few minutes bent over with his head between his knees, trying to breathe. When he'd stopped seeing spots in front of his eyes, he leant heavily on the desk and tried to think what to do.

Jack loved _Brie._

The thought nearly sent him over again, and he gripped the keyboard firmly, forcing himself to calm down. This didn't have to be the end of the world. Probably. He had to do something about this. There had to be someone he could email, someone who could steer things back in the right direction.

Licking his lips, Keith began to type. It took him four goes to get the wording right, but when he finally pressed send, he was satisfied that at least he'd done something. He hadn't just sat back and let this travesty happen.

The answer was not what he had expected. Tosh should have understood. Couldn't she see what a disaster this was going to be? Oh, sure, today Jack liked Brie. But tomorrow he'd be comparing the Somerset variety with the proper French stuff, and didn't he know that one of them was going to turn out to be better and what if it was the one he didn't love? Jack was going to be heartbroken. Or worse. What if it was the French one that he loved?

Nothing good could come of this.

Squaring his shoulders, Keith began to type again. This time, he didn't worry so much about each individual word, just tried to get the seriousness of the situation across as quickly as possible. He was running out of time for finesse. Even now, Jack could be sitting down to a plate of _that cheese_ along with some harmless crackers that really deserved better.

The reply, when it came, was disappointing. According to Owen, there was no way to induce an intolerance to a specific type of cheese. It might have been possible to stop Jack from eating all cheese and assorted dairy produce, but that really would have defeated the point. The point wasn't to stop him eating cheese. The point was to get him eating the right cheese.

In desperation, Keith fired off a quick message to Nigel. He hated to admit it, but Nigel probably had a better idea of how to handle these things, what with having hung out with the wrong crowd for a while. But Keith wasn't about to hold "The Search for Spock" against him. Not when he needed help.

This time, the reply actually had Keith yelling at his computer screen. That was no help at all! There could be no 'agreeing to disagree' here, and clearly the cheese matter was far more serious than anything a limited Old School fan could cope with. And alright, technically Nigel batted for both teams, but even if he'd managed to reconcile both series in his own mind, that didn't mean there could be any kind of reconciliation here.

A few hours later, Keith walked slowly back to the computer and sat down again. He'd managed to get the screaming fit under control, even when the latest of Jack's emails came through, making reference to that 'queen of cheeses' nonsense, and trying to justify his aberration with a couple of hundred years of history. It had to be brainwashing, or alien influences or something. Keith was going to need more help.

This email was careful and considered. It laid out all the facts, as far as Keith knew them, and was, under the circumstances, quite reasonable in tone. Okay, it broke down a little towards the end, but a little bit of his personal feelings couldn't hurt, could they? This was war and he wasn't above emotional blackmail.

The two recipients of this email got back to him at more or less the same time. One was gentle and sympathetic, and he had the distinct impression he was being humoured. The other was brisk and business like and pointed him in the direction of several helpful cheese websites. Both pointed out that Jack was quite free to choose, and that, ultimately, it wasn't Keith's decision.

Keith brushed the tears out of his eyes. Didn't they understand? These things mattered. He wasn't doing it for his own sake, it wasn't just that he didn't like Brie and it had absolutely nothing to do with that unfortunate incident involving a plate of cheese and crackers, Mary and Scott from Form Two and the school hamster. He liked cheese. Really, he did. Sometimes he even had it in his fridge. It was just that no-one seemed able to see what a monumental mistake Jack was making by committing himself like this.

He hadn't heard the door open, nor footsteps on the stairs, and so Keith jumped out of his chair as the door to his bedroom was flung open.

"Keith, right? Great fish impression. You can stop that any time." The man filling the doorway looked round the room in interest. "Looks like you've got all the essentials. Desk, bed, lamp, computer, Star Wars poster – ooh, Empire not New Hope. Good choice. So."

Keith managed to shut his mouth as he was fixed with a hard stare. "Yes." He cleared his throat and tried for something more than a squeak. "Um. Yes?"

"My staff tell me that you've been expressing some concerns about my recent choices."

"Yes?" And that was a squeak. If he was very, very lucky, Keith was going to die of shame before this conversation was over.

"Seems to me you've rather got the wrong idea."

For some reason, Keith was finding it rather hard to breathe, and he seemed to have become glued to his desk chair as the other man slowly crossed the room towards him. Very carefully, Jack leant down and put a hand on each of the chair's arms, his face close enough that Keith could feel breath on his cheek. This was it. He was going to die. His last, frantic thought was that, of all the stupid things to die for, Brie was right up there with a Dogon Eye.

Jack spoke softly, but from the proximity, he might as well have been shouting.

"I'm also quite partial to Caerphilly. And Stilton. And even a spot of Cheddar if the mood takes me. And-"

Keith fainted.


End file.
